Alabaster
by Offen
Summary: Moriarty has set his eyes on a new victim. Who? That's a mystery for our favorite consulting detective as well. After receiving a CD with the inscription 'Miss Her' JW and SH take the case, but bite off a lot more than they can chew with this one. *Mentions of Kidnap, Rape, Drugs and Moderate Language. Set before Reichenbach.*
1. Teaser

Her alabaster skin, her raven hair, her sharp cheekbones. All of these things made her exotically beautiful. It was like she was from another world, a superior race of human.  
" _Well, if I'm right, then she is_ ," thought James Moriarty. He continued staring at the graceful figure below him. Soon _They_ will be here, and I'll watch the story unfold from here. The cameras are very high-quality, so smile for the camera! Giggling, Jim stared at her hungrily. She looked so like her father...

Unless.

Unless he wasn't her father. Oh, he'd thought of this. But how could she not be? Jim shook his head. **_Stop doubting yourself. You're right, and you know it._** Just to reassure himself, he said it out loud.

"And I'm usually right about matters that have to do with Sherlock Holmes."

* * *

 **""Hey guys so... This is my first Fanfic on here and I literally took 5 minutes to type the teaser. Sorry if you don't like it, I'm not very good at writing. I just want to get my ideas out there. Hope you like the rest of the story!""**

 **P.S. I'm planning on have a 15-20 chapter story here with a sequel or two. JSYK**


	2. Packages

**""Hey guys, sorry if this one runs on a bit, but I just couldn't resist roasting Anderson. ;P So, anyways, hope you enjoy and please leave a review! I love compliments and soak up critics, so don't hold back!""**

 ****Sherlock's POV**** **  
**

* * *

The Package had arrived early in the morning. Not even Mycroft knew about it.

"Yes I have the alley bugged, but not your flat. Even _I'm_ not that much of a control freak. According to the cameras, there was no package dropped off at 2:13 this morning, much less Moriarty." Mycroft spoke with complete confidence and finality. Sherlock's mind was working at a mile a minute. They definitely shouldn't watch it until they knew who sent it. Sherlock was fairly certain it was Moriarty, considering the commonly used phrase of Miss Me. But it had changed. It changed to Miss _Her._ "Why?" was the main question in his mind.

Now with Mycroft's permission, _Not that I need it.._ grumbled Sherlock, they popped it into the DvD player. What came up confused Sherlock further. It was a pool, high-end, with lots of teenagers, toddlers, and young adults. John immediately noticed the lack of children. Almost no 5-10 year olds to be seen.

"Is this live?" asked DI Lestrade. Sherlock was impressed. Not very often did the Detective Inspector have a stroke of genius, but when he did, it was usually at strange times. After a bit of exploration, they discovered it was.

"So somebody here used to know Sherlock or John. Any ideas? Old friends, family members? Perhaps somebody you thought was dead?" _Good idea Lestrade._ Sherlock wracked his brain for clues. _Start with family, I never had any friends before Uni. Dark hair, pale skin. Only 14 candidates._ Sherlock wracked his brain, observing those 14. He discarded a few for various reasons, and one in particular caught his eye. A young girl, perhaps 16, with alabaster skin and black, curly hair. He had to admit, he could see the resemblance between him and her.

"What about him? Could it be him?" Anderson, ew. SUCH an impertinent question. Even John is holding back derisive laughter. Mycroft frowns, and slowly turns to face Anderson.

"Him? _Him?_ Is he transgender or are you just fatuous?" Anderson looked so confused, so perplexed, it was hilarious. "What on earth do you mean? Why would he be transgender?" Mycroft replied in a voice seething with frustration,

"Because the CD very clearly said ' _Miss Her?'_ Not _'Miss HIM'_ , ' _Miss **HER**?'_ " Anderson frowned, looked at the CD, and stated that they could safely rule out any males. Glaring at Anderson, Sherlock opened his mouth to suggest that Anderson leave because he was slowing down the investigation, when John said exactly what Sherlock was thinking.

"Ya know mate, you might want to go elsewhere. You're a major distraction and not exactly adept at keeping up. I'm sure that the rest of London will appreciate your stupidity very much." And then proceeded to give him a friendly, albeit rough push out the door. "Now that I'm done decluttering, let's get on with it. Sherlock, any ideas?" Grabbing his coat and scarf, Sherlock whisked out the door shouting, "Chaplin Square! Taxi! Chaplin Square!"


	3. Visitors

**Hello again! Third chapter, woohoo! I realise that this story isn't very original, but it's fun to write.**

 ****Amy** **'s POV****

* * *

Slightly nervous. That's how I feel. But, I mean, who wouldn't be nervous if they just got called to the front of the building?

"It's okay guys, I'll be back in a mo. Just don't finish those chocolate covered strawberries Daniel!" Daniel proceeded to stick his tongue out at me and stuff 3 in his mouth. Rolling my eyes, I head over to the changing rooms. The rec center here is nice, clean, and the staff are friendly. Stepping into the drying room, I'm buffeted with hot air till I'm dry. Good thing my hair isn't tangled. I pull my dark purple and silver sun dress on and my dark sandals. Following the signs, I push open the office door. My jaw falls open. What is this? Police are swarming the office. There must be at least three government officials, including one man who I recognise as Mycroft Holmes. Dear God, this can't be good. Composing myself, I call out,

"Hello? You called for me?" Mr. Holmes starts and turns around. For a split second his eyes are wild, and then they become calm. As if he was expecting somebody else...

"Ah, you must be Miss Amaradia Holmes. A pleasure to meet you." He holds out his hand as cool as anything. I wince slightly. As soon as somebody knows my last name, they treat me differently. It took three weeks for my friends to act normally after.. **that.** shaking my head slightly, I look at the man before me. _Used to being in charge, eldest in the family, 1or 2 siblings, hmm, his mother isn't doing very well, is she? Disconnected from the father, he was a drunk probably. Trying to stay on a diet but not succeeding._ I shake his hand firmly, and he says, "I'm here to bring you some news. Whether it's good or bad news is up to you."

Unexpectedly, the door swings open and a tall, pale figure slinks into the room. _Wow. He's gorgeous. Aaaaaaaaaaand he looks a lot like me. Strange._ A shorter man marches in and scans the room almost unconsciously. _Served in the military, around the Middle East. Afghanistan or Iraq? I don't know. Had a limp recently, probably psychosomatic. Military, but not a soldier. Doctor then? Seems likely._ My eyes swivel over to the other man. Tall, lithe, dark curls and sharp cheekbones. Like me. _I know that expression. He's reading me, like I'm reading him. Could this be what I think it is?_

"Ah, brother mine. So you got the message." Mycroft speaks politely, and with a considerable amount of grievance in his voice. He forces a smile and nods at the shorter man and says, "Doctor Watson, good to see you in fair health." This Dr. Watson eyes Mycroft with the air of a man who has seen both the good and the bad in people. His eyes look tired and excited at the same time, as if he bears a great burden. _Well yes, if he was a war doctor, then that explains it._ _He must have seen so many people die..._

"Yes, yes Mycroft. We both know why we're here, but are you certain?" The tall man, the man who was the source of my past miseries, who can only be Sherlock Holmes, has spoken. This is the first time I have heard his voice in person. it feels like a big moment, but I'm not sure why. His voice is a deep baritone, and oddly soothing. I feel a little more sure of myself now that his eyes are of off me. They're so like mine...

"No. Not yet. For that, we shall need the cooperation of Miss Amaradia." Mycroft turns to me, and smiles. John just noticed me, and he smiles as well. "Oh, hello. You must be Amy. Nice to meet you. I'm John Watson." He beams at me as we shake hands. Sherlock turns to me as well, and I can only catch a few things about him. _Doesn't like excessive contact, both physical and through speech. Considers most people bland/ordinary. Highly intelligent, but of course everybody knows that._ Understanding flashes between us and we nod at each other. Apparently most people don't know about his distaste for physical contact. I turn towards Mycroft and ask,

"Not to be impertinent, but why are we here?"

"Ah, yes, well, a question has come forward about your relations to our family. They wish for your exact connection to the name of Holmes to be unearthed. I trust that you won't object to a blood sample?" I shake my head. "Good. Now, If you'll kindly step over here," I walk over to the medical chair. Some nurses wipe the inside of my elbow and stick the needle in. I don't even flinch.

As my blood flows into the bag, I start to wonder who wanted to know. Who would need the information? A newspaper? _No, not a newspaper. No reporters in sight. They would want to be right up in the action. Government? No, they would do it in secret. So a third party. Any known third parties related to Sherlock Holmes?_ I scan the memories of my mind palace, searching for anything I can find. Nothing. Or... _Or... Maybe Sherlock just wanted to know. Doesn't seem likely, he's not exactly the type to be nostalgic about family, so... Mrs. Holmes? She's much more sentimental, that makes sense. But something seems wrong here. If she wanted to know she would've come, unless her health is so bad that she's bedridden. But she's not, is she Mycroft? Your hand isn't shaking **that** much. So it's an unidentified but strongly connected third party with a violent history. Undoubtedly has a complicated relationship with Sherlock._

With the proper blood samples taken, I stand up and face Mycroft.

"Who was it then? The 'interested party'?" He smiles slightly, as though he knows my conclusion. "A third party with a, shall we say, convoluted relationship with the family. Have a good rest of your day." He turns smartly and stalks out of the room, followed by practically everyone else in the room. I face Sherlock with raised eyebrows.

"Your conclusions were correct, but I'm going to actually give you an answer," He shot a glare in Mycroft's direction. "The third party's name is," He paused, and leaned forward to whisper in my ear, "Moriarty." He leaned back, sharing a significant glance with John. _Moriarty? HE'S the third party? I had no idea he was affiliated with Sherlock Holmes. I'll need to update my database later.._

"Should I be worried for my safety? I mean, he is a homicidal psychopath. Just how much is he 'interested' in me?"

Sherlock takes his time in answering. "The only reason I'm answering honestly is because I know you can handle it." He gives me a sharp look and continues, "Yes. He was the one asking questions. He's tracking you wherever you go. He is very interested. And not in a good way." John shoots a look at Sherlock that clearly said, "Come on, she's just a girl, don't scare her to death." I frown at him and say, a little more heatedly that I meant to,

"He's not going to terrify me. Yes, I'm scared, but in a scenario like this that's a good thing. I just need to know if I need to be concerned for my health and safety." John bursts out laughing, causing Sherlock and me to give him strange looks. This only makes him laugh harder. Sherlock is clearly irritated. "What is it John?"

"Such a Sherlock-like answer, your faces, exactly the same!" He's still laughing like crazy, so his answer is cut off in strange places with gasps and chuckles. Sherlock rolls his eyes in unison with me and we stand and look at each other. We share a smirk and leave the room, pondering everything that happened.


	4. Perhaps

**Hello my rabid readers! Thank you so much to: Sherlocked86, leten1991,** **and Elias C! These were my very first followers and favoriters (if that's a word...) I'm hoping to get more as time goes by, but my main goal is to write a good story that others will enjoy. Please leave a review and tell me where I messed up on anything!**

 ***BTW, this is mostly going on in Sherlock's head, so the italics are his head talking and the bold italics is his heart talking. Yes, I made them 2 different entities. If you don't like that, cry me a river, build me a bridge, and get over it. Read something else.***

 ****Sherlock's POV****

* * *

 _Chaplin Square. She's in Chaplin Square. **Wait.** What. **Is Moriarty going to be there?** Probably not, He never liked getting his hands dirty. **What if he kidnaps her?** Why do you care? **Because she's family.** Caring is not an advantage. **Well boo, you sound just like Mycroft. What about John then? You always said that, but you care about John.** John's different. **How? What makes John Watson so much more different that Amaradia Holmes?** Because he's not family, he's a friend. **And that changes what? If you can just up and decide to care about one man, can't you care about your daughter?** Hey, we don't know if she's our daughter. We only know that she's related. **You know the probability of her being your or Mycroft's daughter. And that it's much higher that she's yours.** Yes, probability, but I would remember if I had sex with anyone. Wouldn't I? **Yes, but you recall that time at Bashford's? You don't remember that place at all from your own memories, but everyone said that you were there, even Mycroft. So it seems very likely that she's yours.** Nevermind that. Let's make a deal. **Fine then.** We'll act condescending, and if she quails, we disconnect. If she shows competence, we care. Deal? **Deal.**_

Sherlock's mind was made up. If she shows signs of "The Deduction Thing" as John called it, he would care about her. If she does not, then she'll be unimportant. Yet, despite Sherlock's best efforts, he felt himself already caring. As if he already knew her. Was this fatherly love? Or was it his "general respect for human life"? _I don't know, this feels like more than that. **That's because it is.** No, it can't be. I won't _ let _it be. **If you say so.**_

"Sherlock? You okay mate?" John asked. Ah, John. My only friend in the world. "Yes John, I'm fine. More than fine, I'm actually not bored now. This should be an interesting case."

"Oh. I was just wondering 'cause you looked like you were..." John sort of trails off, looking away. I frown and say, "I looked like I was..." He chuckles and says,

"You looked like you were either having an argument with yourself or you were going insane."

"Considering the present company, either of those may be true." We both start laughing. And then we arrive. As we get out of the cab, I say,

"I won, you pay." John blusters," You didn't win anything!"

"Yes I did, I made you laugh." At that, I sweep majestically (or so I think) up the stairs to the recreational center.

* * *

 _Office room, office room, where is it? Mycroft said it was in office room 1C. **Maybe if you went to office room 1B,** Yes, thank you, but where is that? Ah! an intercom! I always loved causing trouble with these. Shall we give it a try? **Absolutely.**_

"Amaradia Holmes to office 1C please, Amaradia Holmes to office 1C please." **_Aww, I thought you meant,_** _Yes, that was your first mistake. **What?** Thinking. Or at least trying to. _

Amy just walked past. She must know where she's going. _Ahhhh, I see the office door now. Oh, and there's John!_

"John! I've found the office, but, before you go in there, a word of advice?" John stops in his tracks, with his adorable puzzled face. _Stop..._ "Amy may feel a tad resentful about the present situation. Her life has undoubtedly been changed and or affected by her relations to me. Might be a sore subject for her. I'll have to observe her reaction, of course, but don't do anything rash." Now he looks offended! "Who said I would do anything rash! I should be saying that to you, not the other way around!"

"Why would you have to say that to me?" You're not making any sense John!

"You certainly have a track record of offending people who you just met" Ah, good point John. I roll my eyes and push through the door. 1C is the last room in this corridor. Inside, somebody is speaking. "I'm here to bring you some news. Whether it's good or bad news is up to you." Oh. Mycroft. I push open the door and walk in, stopping a few feet from where Mycroft and Amy are standing. They both turn to face me. The usual response from Mycroft, irritation, but Amy, Amy is different than I thought she would be. I thought she would be ordinary, even _hoped_ she would be ordinary. At a single glance, I know that she is not.

"Ah, brother mine. So you got the message." Yes, obviously. He turns to John, smiles, and says, "Doctor Watson, good to see you in fair health." John doesn't respond ( _Take that Mycroft!)_

"Yes, yes Mycroft. We both know why we're here, but are you certain?" He of course knows that I'm talking about if Amy is who we're looking for. As usual, he misses the point.

"No. Not yet. For that, we shall need the cooperation of Miss Amaradia." Mycroft smiles at her, and so does John.

"Oh, hello. You must be Amy. Nice to meet you. I'm John Watson." They shake hands, and eventually, she turns to me. _Her eyes. They look just like mine. She's reading me. I should be trying to deduce her, but she seems oddly, familiar. She knows about how I don't like excessive contact._ We nod at each other, and she gives me a small smile. _**Perhaps she's not resentful after all,**_

"Not to be impertinent, but why are we here?" Her question is straightforward, as if er only intention was to get information and then leave. I remember doing that to adults all the time. Naturally, Mycroft answers her,

"Ah, yes, well, a question has come forward about your relations to our family. They wish for your exact connection to the name of Holmes to be unearthed. I trust that you won't object to a blood sample?" She shakes her head. Of course she would have absolutely no fear of needles. "Good. Now, If you'll kindly step over here," Mycroft directs her to a medical chair. As they collect the blood sample, I lean my head back and go to my mind palace. _Not resentful, but she used to be. Must've been hard, being so closely related to me without..._

"Sherlock? What do you think? Sherlock?"

"I'm fairly certain John. She's not resentful, but she was. Perhaps a few years ago, when her guardians told her they weren't her parents. I should like to meet them sometime soon." John nods, as if this was reassuring. Nurses finished taking their samples and busy themselves with eavesdropping. Surprisingly, I didn't really notice the rest of the room. It appears that half of Scotland Yard is here, including Donovan and Lestrade. Amy is asking Mycroft something.

"Who was it then? The 'interested party'?" Ah, clever girl. i think you already know, don't you? Of course Mycroft gives her some general, indirect answer. Stupid Mycroft, always meddling in people's minds, trying to keep them from the truth. Not on my watch. My daughter will know the truth. She's already demanding an answer, a real one this time (ahem, Mycroft)

"Your conclusions were correct, but I'm going to actually give you an answer," I glare at Mycroft's car, and continue, "The third party's name is," I lean forward so that the nurses can't hear, "Moriarty." The name shocks her, but not too much. She asks,

"Should I be worried for my safety? I mean, he is a homicidal psychopath. Just how much is he 'interested' in me?"

I takes my time in answering. "The only reason I'm answering honestly is because I know you can handle it." I gives her a sharp look and continue, "Yes. He was the one asking questions. He's tracking you wherever you go. He is very interested. And not in a good way." John shoots a look at me that clearly says, "Come on, she's just a girl, don't scare her to death." Amy frowns at him and says, perhaps a little more heatedly that she meant to,

"He's not going to terrify me. Yes, I'm scared, but in a scenario like this that's a good thing. I just need to know if I need to be concerned for my health and safety." John bursts out laughing, causing Amy and me to give him strange looks. This only makes him laugh harder. "What is it John?"

"Such a Sherlock-like answer, your faces, exactly the same!" He's still laughing like crazy, so his answer is cut off in strange places with gasps and chuckles. This was clearly a maneuver to make her feel comfortable with us. I don't think she can tell, but I may not be right. She and I roll our eyes and stand in unison. Sharing a smirk, we stride out of the room with John still chortling.


	5. Plan Tragic

**P.S. guys, Moriarty's chapters are going to be longer as we go on. I think.**

 ****Moriarty's POV****

* * *

 _Oooooooo, that went even better that I thought it was going to go! Them getting all cuddly. Soon Sherly is going to get all sentimental about his new pet. Amy, Amy girl! How are you? Perhaps a small present? i know just the thing. A cliche name for our expedition? How perfect. Say goodbye to Mommy and Daddy for me Amy! Unless the house burns down too fast. How tragic._

"Moran? Initiate plan Tragic. I expect it to be done by tonight!"

"Uh, sir? What's plan Tragic?"

"A plan in which something tragic happens." _Obviously Moran._

"Yes sir, but what happens to who?"

"To _whom_ Moran. To _whom_."


	6. The Lotus Part 1

**Heller! So, I've been asked where I got the inspiration for Amy's name, which is actually Amaradia. The inspiration was from a theory site which theorized (no dip) about what a fourth Holmes' name would be. They were sure that it would start with an A, end with and A, and have lots of A's in it. I don't remember why or what the website was, but if you know which website I'm talking about, please send it to me in a review or a private message! Thanks and enjoy the evil to come! (MWAHAHAHAHAHAA!** _mew_ ) I know, I'm weird

 ****Amy's POV****

* * *

 _Well that was an interesting day to say the least. Very insightful. I need to organize my mind palace._

After sinking into the cool oblivion of my own mind, I reviewed today. Going to the pool with my friends, getting called to the office. _Squad s_ _eemed really concerned. I'm glad they're still my friends. Last year was horrible._ I shuddered at the memories. As tempted as I was to delete them, I needed them. They were a testimony to what I would go through every time somebody heard my surname. The glances, the whispers, the expectations.

But hey, don't get me wrong, those expectations were easy to uphold. Dazzle them with a couple lucid observations, and ignore most of them. I most certainly didn't expect my friends to react like that. They thought that I'd be too important to hang out with them. This was helped along by all of the "popular" kids suddenly wanting me in their cliques. But I wouldn't stand for it, not one bit. I was the same person that day as I was the day before it. If you weren't interested then, why change now? There should be more to somebody than their relatives. This thought chased violently through my head, ruffling the files I was organizing.

 _Careful now, we need to get these down to database._ I carefully sent them down to Permanent. I didn't want to forget this day for as long as I lived. The day I met Sherlock Holmes. How cliche. Next on my list was to organize my feelings. Feelings were a source of puzzlement for me. Unnecessary, but unshakeable. I've learned not to shove them away, but to analyze and utilize them. So far my list was;

 _Happy_

 _Curious_

 _Venting_

 _Worried_

Yeah, that sounds about right. Happy about meeting Sherlock and John, curious about where this will lead, venting the past, worried about Moriarty and what he might do. Might seem complicated to outsiders, but my system makes perfect sense to me.

Sighing, I stretch out in the back of the taxi. I prepare to take a nap, getting comfortable. At the present speed (Granted the traffic is bad) the cab should get to my house in 14 minutes. Ample time to sleep and send memories to Long-Term. Sleeping isn't usually a problem for me, I get a good 5-6 hours a day. Less that the average person, but being a Holmes doesn't exactly make me average.

* * *

As soon as I get to the house I know something's wrong. The air, it's so tense. Not to mention the unnamed black car in front of our house. Great. We have company. I sigh and make my way to the porch. No point in trying to interrupt. Probably Mycroft or Sherlock.

Right below my bedroom window, I have a gymnastics bar set up. It's very useful for getting in the house when I don't want to be seen. It helps I love gymnastics, I always have. All I need to do to get up to my room is stand on the railing, grab the bar and swing up. Very simple. Mom and Dad never noticed. _I guess I can't really call them my parents anymore._ I shake that thought off with a frown.

As soon as I clear the window, Rachel, my sister/not really sister, pounces on me like a hound.

"Where were you? Why'd you take so long at the pool? Did something happen? What happened? Who're the people downstairs?" All of this came out in one breath so I could barely comprehend what she was saying.

"I was at the pool, I met Sherlock Holmes, and I have an idea about who's downstairs." She's still watching me raptly, so I continue, "Tell me, did you get a glimpse of them?" She nods. "Did one of them have a comb over, large waistline, and carry an umbrella around?"

"Yes, but there were other people too. Big men in suits, they were probably just guards, but two other men came in as well. The first was tall, with dark curly hair. I couldn't really see his face that well. Second came a shorter man, he had graying sandy hair. But don't worry, I took a picture of them before they went into Dad's office!" She took out her phone, which indeed had a picture of Mycroft, John, and Sherlock.

"Damn! Why are they here?"

"Do you know them? Wait, is he.. are they.."

"Yes." I point to each of them in turn. "He's Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock's older brother, and that's John Watson. I assume you can tell who Sherlock is." She nods, staring at her phone in awe. She now had pictures of Sherlock Holmes walking into her house! Just wait until her friends saw this! She hurriedly put it on all of her social media.

"Hold on a minute, did you say you met him?" I nod. Squealing, she posted that as well. Soon the media was bursting with _#NewHolmes?_ , and _#Parentlock_ and the like. For the first time in her life, Rachel was trending. And she milked it for all its worth. I quietly slipped into the bathroom to take a cold shower. I find it relaxing when the rest of the world is being so utterly stupid. For a while I just sit under the deluge of freezing water and think about the trouble I just caused. Now what was supposed to be a discrete meeting between my parents and my Father was now a social trend. It should only take the press 8 more minutes to find their way here. By then I'll be out of the shower and hopefully Sherlock's meeting will be done.

As soon as I step out of the bathroom, curly hair still damp, I hear the screeching of tires and the clamour of eager voices, just waiting to get the scoop of a lifetime. Honestly, reporters should start running ice cream shops. It would do the community so much more good. Rolling my eyes, I put on my hoodie. I'm not sure where I got it, but it's basically a black, sleeveless hoodie with a neon pink, blue,and green stitch pattern. Not like the disney character, like sewing stitch. I tromp outside and try to avoid the cameras. I mostly succeed, but a few of them get photos.

I need to relax, get away from idiotic people. The best place I know to do that is the Lotus, a weird kind of a gym. I'm always welcome there, and it's very calming. As I push through the door, I smile at So Ming, the founder of the Lotus. He grins back and we bow to each other. I've always tried to be culturally aware, it makes for less awkwardness when dealing with foreigners. The whole place is silent and I slip into my usual rhythm.

Now, don't get me wrong, I'm flexible and all, but you should see the contortionists here. It's kinda really gross. I do a few yoga poses and stretch. First to the ground, then to the sides, a few static, and then I stretch as high as I can. There's a ladder-like thing where you hook your feet into straps on the ground and slowly inch your fingers up the rungs. The first time I saw somebody do it, I thought they were trying to.. well, you know. It's a strange picture, but it works.

"Well that's a fair sight to see. To what do I owe the pleasure?" My heart almost stops. SOmebody is standing right behind me, their body pressed against mine. _Male, slightly shorter than me, with a slight Irish tilt. Their voice sounds familiar,_ I hear a spontaneous clicking sound. Damn! I know what that sound was. The sound of handcuffs locking. Now I'm stuck here, stretched out as far as I can go. And now I'm handcuffed. Wonderful. His hand slides to my wrist as I desperately try to work my feet out of the straps, but it's nearly impossible. They designed them that way.

"Oh dear, did that scare you? Or is it something else making your heart race?" His seductive whisper causes a shudder to go down my spine. This guy is phedophile. I just need to relax. Slowly, I relax all of my muscles, one by one.

"Very good girl, you must not be as scared as I thought you were." There's the sound of metal against metal as he slides a knife out of it's sheath. "This will probably hurt." I try not to tense up as he makes small incisions on my neck, where it nearly meets my collarbone. I hiss as he nuzzles my neck, kissing it.

"Careful now, I only just got you, I don't like my toys broken so early in," he mumbles into my neck. Now he's playing with my hair, caressing me in a very implicative way.

"I'm not your- Ah!" My voice starts out strong but ends up a short cry of surprise as he bites my ear. All of my senses are on overload. I can smell his stale breath, hear his smooth breathing, feel his rough hands grazing my side. Everywhere he touches shivers and burns, like he's the devil, and I'm in hell.

 _No. You are in the Lotus, a Thai-Gym that specializes in relaxing exercise. The man behind you is a child molester, not the devil._ Factual thoughts help me relax. After I'm sufficiently calmed down, I change my center of gravity, shifting it down. Man, I'm gonna have some bad bruises on my wrists. Those will raise some eyebrows. There! I have enough slack to slip my feet out now. I clear my throat and say light-heartedly,

"Now, this has been an interesting visit, but I'm afraid I'll have to cut it a bit short."

"Oh? And why is that? Do you have plans for later?" I laugh as though it's funny and give him a sarcastic answer.

"Yes, I have a meeting with the queen at four, a date at seven and my own funeral and three in the morning."

"I can keep you till then. Tell me, are you like Daddy dearest? The brilliant Virgin?" I tense at his words, but I quickly relax again.

"For now." At that I unhooked my feet, swung forward on the bar and rammed him with my feet. He stumbled backwards and swung all the way around the bar, until I'm balanced on the top of the ladder. Good news, I broke my record in flexibility! Bad news, I'm still handcuffed to the ladder. Using my feet (My socks came off when I kicked him, so now I'm barefoot) I pull a lock pick out of my jacket pocket. My feet are quite dextrous. It only takes me a few moments to release myself, knock the guy unconscious and call the police.


	7. The Lotus Part 2

**Heller again! Sorry for leaving everybody in suspense last time, but I did warn you about evil. That guy gave me the creeps, but he was based on a real person. It took all of my self-control to not put Johnlock in this chapter! But I digress. Please R &R! I always love hearing what my readers have to say! I hope you enjoy this chapter! *Puts on Belstaff and gallops into the sunset***

 **P.S. This one's gonna have action and _feels!_**

 ****Amy's POV****

* * *

 _These people are idiots. Each and every one of them._ I sigh, and go through the course of events once again.

"The perp is still tied to the ladder. No, no I'm not in shock! Why would I be in shock? STOP GIVING ME A BLANKET! I'M NOT IN SHOCK!" Oh my land, these people are imbeciles. Do I look like I'm in shock? Ugh. Please don't answer that honestly, I do have an ego. Lestrade is just sitting there, laughing and shaking his head.

"What? Why are you laughing?" He starts when he hears my voice and tries to smother his laughing.

"You sound just like Sherlock. He used to make a big fuss about the infamous "Shock Blanket" as well. Gave us all a headache." I hmph and frown. Lestrade's still laughing. Somebody else rounds the corner, and I whisk out of sight. Sherlock! The sight of him still makes me nervous. He's talking to Lestrade with a look to make the devil himself flee for the hills. I lean in to catch their conversation.

"Where. Is. She."

"Er, I was just having a chat with her a moment ago." Lestrade turns around, missing the look that John and Sherlock share. _He was talking about **me**. Me! He cares enough about me the make a fuss like that? I'm touched. _ His eyes pass over my hiding spot a few times, but I don't see any recognition. But he may be hiding it. He's rather good at that, hiding his face behind his face, if that makes sense. it probably doesn't, does it?

"That's... irritating. John! John we have to find her!" John turns around, his eyes flashing as he hears his name. His reflexes are quite amazing, most likely a byproduct of his years in Afghanistan. That's my cue to head home! Too late I realize that leaping over a bin and climbing a staircase makes a lot of noise. Almost every police officer is turned in my direction and Sherlock is chasing me. Great! I'm being chased down by my dad over the rooftops in bare feet. Just a normal day in London!

"Stop! You have nowhere to run!" Sure enough, they have me cornered. John and Sherlock behind me on either side, and the corner of the building on the other. But then I notice the bins...

With a lopsided grin, I jump from the building, falling just over two stories to the ground below

* * *

Breath. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out.

"Are you ready to talk about what happened?" griped Rachel. She's a nice kid, but very whiny and she can get annoying very fast.

"The answer won't change if you only wait 15 seconds. In fact, I doubt that this answer will ever change, because I'm not telling you."

"But whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?" I laugh and say,

"Because you're an annoying twerp, that's why!" She pouts quite childishly. Rolling my eyes, I open my door and go downstairs. It's my turn to make dinner, and I have pasta planned, because you can never go wrong with a carb overload! Ravioli or perogies? Perogies. We don't have any meatballs anyways. I pop the pan into the oven and stretch, my back and shoulders popping pleasantly. Only 12 minutes have passed and I'm bored.

"Can you tell me what happened _now?"_

"No. You'd see it on the news before I told you." She gasped, having finally figured something out.

"So it was important enough to see on the news, but it might not be on until tomorrow?" I roll my eyes, and she squeals like it's Christmas. "Yes! Yyyyyyyyyyyes!"

Honestly, why does she want to know so badly? Hmph. Ordinary people.

"James! Dinner's ready, come down if you want to eat!" James, my brother-not brother, spends almost all of his time upstairs, locked in his room. It's _so_ strange, and very suspicious if you ask me. He clomps down the stairs, proclaiming his disdain to the world. Mom and Dad are already at the table, but I don't sit down.

"Amy, sit down, won't you?"

"I'm not hungry Mom, I ate this morning."

"But that was this morning! If you don't eat more you'll lose weight, and then we need to go to the doctors!" Ugh, not that. _Anything_ but that. The doctors are the _worst._ All they ever tell me is "You need to be eating more, there's no need to be insecure about your weight, you can be beautiful without a thigh-gap, blah blah blah "understanding the pressure to look like a model"and gross generalizations like that. Yes, I know I'm gorgeous, but I'm not anorexic! I just have a different internal clock. But if it means not going to the doctors...

I sigh and sit down. Mom beams at me, as if this was an accomplishment. Rather, it was. A few years back, when I asked to make dinner every week, I ate a _lot_. They were worried about me getting fat, but I never did. I grew about half a foot each year and put on a lot of muscle, but almost no fat. Now I eat once or very rarely twice a day, and I'm gaining no weight, which apparently is bad. I maintain my whipcord muscles and improve my core and flexibility, but I gain no weight or fat.

Dinner passes without a hitch, unless you count Mom demanding that I eat seconds. I trudge upstairs after dinner and collapse onto my bed. Man, I'm beat. I wouldn't be surprised if Mom spiked my water with sleeping pills. Still, I haven't slept for two days since my nap in the cab. My eyes flicker shut just as the bomb goes off. My last coherent thought is _That was in the dining room! a_ nd I slip into an unconsciousness deeper than death's sleep.


	8. Fatherly

**MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA! Yes, EVIL! SUSPENSE! MORIARTY! SPOILERS! EVERYTHING UNHOLY AND NEFARIOUS IN THE WORLD! I've had this one planned out for a while, so it's been planned down to each detail.**

 **This is completely off topic, but for writers who need background noise, I highly suggest listening to the Phantom of the Opera music! It helps with writer's block EVERY time!**

 **Please R &R, your reviews are writer food and I'm hungry! **

****Sherlock's POV****

* * *

I got the call while I was composing. It's around 2 in the morning, so when I read Lestrade's name on my phone, I know it's not a case. He wouldn't be awake if it wasn't something truly important.

"What is it Greg,"

"Hey, you actually got it right this time!" He laughs nervously, and undoubtedly scratches the back of his neck. A nervous tick of his.

"It must be bad."

"What makes you say that Sherlock?" Another nervous laugh.

"You sound nervous, which isn't typical of difficult cases. If it was a case, Scotland Yard wouldn't have woken you up for it, but it's clear you were awake only half an hour ago. You're trying to joke around, meaning I might react badly to what you have to say. That means it's not a case, I'm desperate for one right now. So what happened?"

"Dammit, you're right. It's Amy. There's been a bomb. We suspect Moriarty's behind it."

"Say no more. John! Oh, you're awake."

"Yeah, I heard you and Lestrade. Where was it?"

"At her house." We're out the door and in taxi before John could ask anymore questions.

* * *

We see the flames before the house. It's been completely engulfed, and the blistering heat could be felt as soon as we got out. The cabbie didn't even ask for pay, just stared at the house for a while and murmured his condolences.

For the first time that I can remember, my body reacts to the situation before my mind does. I'm sprinting to the house, desperate to save her. I shed my beloved Belstaff in a hurry, dropping it on the brick steps leading up to the driveway. Suddenly there are hands on my arms, trying to drag me down, to keep me away from the roaring flames.

"For God's sake Sherlock! Come to your senses!" And I do. I relax, hoping to throw them off. Lestrade's hands never leave my elbows, and he spins me around to look at me. He's pinning me to the fence and lecturing me on being sensible. My eyes never stray from the house. Firemen are hauling a limp body through the back door. I catch a glimpse of dark curls and try to run over Lestrade.

"Somebody give me a hand over 'ere!" New arms snake over my chest, and I react automatically. My hand flies out, connecting with flesh.

"Keep your hands off me!" I snarl. They looked shocked, and I turn to the house again. Once again, hands are locked around my arms, pulling me back, but these aren't strange. _John._

"Sherlock, mate, back away. We need to get out of the firemens' way."

"But John, she's hurt. She's hurt and I can't help." My weak moaning is desperate. Too many memories. Too many...

"Hey, she'll be alright. Just calm down." My knees give out, pulling me to the ground. John's arms are still locked around me, and I don't protest. He pulls me to my feet, dragging me over to Amy.

"She gained consciousness a few moments ago. She was asking for a Sherlock and John, is that you two?" The nurse is nice, but her boyfriend wasn't. He didn't deserve her. Yet another avoidable injustice the world must suffer.

"Yes, thanks." John gives her a quick smile, and she blushes faintly, muttering "I'll leave you to it then" and walking off.

I'm gripping Amy's hand, tears threatening to form in my eyes. _Come on Amy. Wake up. Please, for me. Wake up._ John's steady, strong hands check her pulse and breathing, his nimble fingers checking for fractures and hemorrhaging. His arms stiffen as they brush several places, undoubtedly finding injuries.

"What's broken?" I whisper, and he replies,

"Left leg has some shrapnel in it, she might have a minor concussion, and several hairline fractures in her right leg. At least second degree burns on her back, and bruises on her wrists. They look like they may've been from handcuffs. No hemorrhaging that I can see. Can you deduce anything?"

I sigh and try to push my feelings away, mostly effectively. "Her back has burns on it, but not her front, suggesting that she wasn't facing the explosion. She's in her clothes, so she wasn't in bed. She recently ate a meal." I sigh again and stride towards a fireman. "I need more data."

"Hello. SInce you're not busy, I have some questions concerning this fire." He grunts, hauling some infernal piece of equipment.

"The press canna wait? We're a bit busy now see, canna ya come later?"

"I'm not with the press, I'm a family member. I need crucial data concerning what, or rather whom, you found."

"Right then." He sniffs, eyeing my immaculate suit. He still thinks I'm with the press. "The only one we found alive was 'er. The others were in the dinin' room, sittin' there like statues. Completely charred, you could almost see the bone. Definitely a bomb, I'd say a compression to say the least. Those're the hardest to put out ya see. Professional if I ever saw one. She was up in the room, blown back by it. The cold from the window we found 'er by helped keep away the fire. Damn lucky if you ask some, but I fink it's suspicious I do. I don't fink it was a coincidence that she was on the other side of the house when the bomb went off. Darn right I don't. Only one survivor, an they got out wifout a scratch? Highly suspicious."

"I'd hardly consider several fractures to the right leg, embedded shrapnel in the left leg, second degree burns all over her back, and a concussion "getting out without a scratch." Do you?" I turn on my heel. He thought it was her! _To be fair, I can see the logic behind that. **We have no evidence that she initiated the bomb. If there was a trigger, she could've used it while she was at the Lotus.** True._

"John! John. She was the only survivor. The others were in the dining room, and she was found in her room, which was on the other side of the house. Moriarty must've waited till she was alone, and then set the bomb off." John's looking at me, his eyes slightly confused.

"Who said anything about Moriarty?"

"It's obv-"

""No, don't. Don't do the whole "it's obvious" thing."

"But-"

"No. Explain. Don't "it's obvious" me."

"Moriarty sent us the tapes. Moriarty sent a molester after her. Who else could it be? You know he has experience with bombs." John frowns, processing this. The house is collapsing, send flaming debris everywhere.

"We need to get her home. You undo the straps, I'll carry her." John agrees, quickly freeing Amy.

"Oi, where do you think you're taking her?"

I spin around to face Lestrade, Amy now wrapped in my Belstaff. "Home."

* * *

"What- Where is this?" John and I hear the confused moan from the other side of the room. We both rush to her side.

"Sh-lock? John? What're you doing here? Where is this?" She struggles to sit up, but John pushes her back down.

"You're at Baker Street. Our flat." Her confused look vanishes.

"Why am I here instead of at the hospital?" Awkward silence. I clear my throat and answer,

"We figured, since John is a doctor, you would be better off here. I know I personally hate hospitals." She wrinkles her nose. "Now I know who I get it from." John snorts and stands.

"You should probably be in a lot of pain now. I'll go get some cream for your back." As John leaves, she mutters something that sounded like "I've had worse." She stares at me, a question in her eyes. Ah yes, the big question everybody's asking. "Why do you care?" I'm not heartless, unlike common belief, and Amy is my daughter. My _daughter_ for pete's sake! Not to mention she's been unconscious for the past two days. God knows what her concussion is doing for her.

She nods at me, as though she heard my thought process. She laughs and says,

"I can sometimes tell what people are thinking. My mum used to call it my "Unheard Language" and rubbish like that." He stares at me a bit before hearing John's laughing. Sherlock turns to him.

"What? What's so funny?"

"Now you know how other people feel. When I first met you, I thought you were a mind reader or something." Sherlock rolls his eyes.

"It's been scientifically proven that mind reading is impossible. Brainwaves are not transmittable in any way. If they were, we would be able to read minds already." John just shakes his head, sighing.

"How long have I been out for?"

"Er, two days. Today's Tuesday, the fire was on Sunday." She frowns.

"When will my burns heal?"

"In a day, if we're lucky. They weren't too bad, and I've been applying cream every few hours." Amy nods, turning over so John can apply the cream again. Her burns have ceased swelling, and any infection has long been beaten away. Now it's just pink, waiting for the skin to grow over. She hisses as the cream goes on, then sighs. A few deep breaths later, she's sitting up.

"Did they get anything out of the house?"So she had something that was special to her there. I'm not surprised. If Baker Street were to burn, I'd want John and Mrs. Hudson safe, my skull and my violin. Everything else is replaceable.

"A strong box that requires a key code, a silver pocket watch and a violin. Was the violin yours?" Amy visibly relaxed at the last one, so I'd say yes.

"Yes, it is. I know the code to the strong box, and the silver watch was a family heirloom. Back from just before the Victorian age.

"Great. When can we go collect them from the fire station?" John looks surprised, but answers,

"Whenever Amy feels up to it I guess." But Amy is already standing, reaching for the crutches beside her bed. "Ack, John, these are too short!" She's holding back laughter, and I realize what she means. She's almost six feet tall, and obviously still growing. **_That's my girl!_**

* * *

"Ah, Sherlock. Good to see you in the land of the living. Where've you been these last two days, we needed you on the case!"

"Sorry Lestrade, family comes first." I relish the look of surprise on his face.

"Since when would you put Mycroft before a case?"

"I wouldn't, and I didn't. I'm afraid I don't know what you mean Graham."

"It's Greg, and who else constitutes as family in your mind?" Ah Greg, that is the question, isn't it? It's going to be so much _fun_ harassing Anderson!

"Right then, I have the violin, the watch, and the strong box is... Ummmm, hello? Who're you?" Amy! Wonderful timing, I must say.

"Ah, yes, this is Detective Inspector Lestrade. He's one of the few people who have enough sense to let me in at crime scenes."

"Oh. Pleased to meet you, Lestrade." She holds her hand out smiling at him.

"Hang on, is this the girl who was at the fire?"

"Yes. Problem?"

"You didn't go off kidnapping another child did you? Come on Sherlock, we discussed this!"

"I didn't kidnap anyone!"

"Ummm, _another_? Who exactly did you kidnap before?"

"It's not important. Gavin, listen. I have full legal rights to count Amy as my dependant. Happy?"

"Not really! How exactly do you have 'full legal rights' here?"

"..."

"Because she's my daughter." Ah, that was the best moment all day! I can't _wait_ until I get to drop that bomb on Anderson.

"..."

"Wait... like, your, biological daughter? Not adopted?"

This time Amy speaks up. "I'm Amadradia Holmes, Sherlock's _biological_ daughter. But you knew that already."

"No I didn't! I haven't even met you!"

"Yes you have! Think! The Lotus!" Realization dawns on him.

"Wait, that was you? Why'd you run?" She just smirks and gives John a significant look. He sighs, shaking his head.

"We'll be heading home now. Have a good day George!"

"It's Greg!"


	9. Parentlock Stuff

**UGH! Sorry that I took so long to write this, I've been lazy (naughty writer). Pro-crast-inate! (How'd that Doctor Who reference get in there? Sneaky little Daleksies.) This chapter is pretty much just filler Parent!lock stuff, so sorry if it sucks, I'm bad at this. But I love it. I love it love it love it LOVE IT LOVE IT!**

 ** _ANY_ ways...**

 **Sorry if any of you are British and I screw something up, I have no intention of triggering you. Please point this out to me, I would be really grateful!**

 **Please R &R, your reviews are writer food and I'm hungry! (please, I need food. Maybe some cake...)**

 ****Amy's POV****

* * *

Sherlock Holmes is an insufferable human. I'm not going so far as to call him a human _being,_ but he's at least human.

Not that _he_ thinks he is.

"The body is merely transport John, you know I don't eat on cases." I feel the need to contradict him of course.

"While the body may be transport, sleep and eating do affect mental capacity. And collapsing onto the sofa because of malnutrition does as well." Sherlock scowls and mutters something about "last time" and utter nonsense. But John has a diabolical plan.

"You make the food, I'll sweet talk him. AND don't forget the biscuits, he likes the peanut-butter ones best!" As I get the pasta onto a boil, John walks into the living room. I only catch snippets of their conversation. The plan was to make one of Sherlock's favorites for dinner, Shrimp Gramigna. He loves the stuff. He claims it's because of the nutrition values, but Mycroft says differently, that "Mummy endeared it to him every other day" and what-not.

"NO John! I'm on a case, and this one's a 9! I need to focus!" The slamming of a door could be heard across this half of the world.

"That went well."

"Oh, be quiet. Let's hope the food's better than I was."

"Or that you can make." I say teasingly. Last time John tried to cook, he set the pan on fire, but the muffins weren't done. Only John, only John. A few minutes later, we have the table set for three and are nearly done with firsts when Sherlock comes out of his room, robe disheveled and whooping.

"It was the half-brother's best friend's sister! Michael went out with her one night, she got him drunk and they eloped together the next morning! The faked suicide was obvious, but disguising it as an overdose on painkillers? BRILLIANT!" He swooped down, kissed the top of my head, and heaped half of the pot on top of his plate.

"Well that was fast." Surprisingly, he chuckles.

"I just needed the right motivation I guess," With a badly concealed wink.

* * *

 ***Three Weeks Earlier***

Apparently this case was an "8 and a Half" and Sherlock and John insisted that I come.

"We might need your help."

"Any intellect you possess must be perfected." You can bet which one was more motivating. The crime scene was a few hours from 221B. I moved into 221E, the flat right beside. I actually bought it, so we could install a hallway between the flats.

"Who's on Forensics?"

"Anderson, but Sally's on vacation in Dublin, won't be back for another week. Ah, this must be Amy! I see you're still on crutches."

"Yeah, three hairline fractures in the same bone. Thankfully the shrapnel missed my muscle, but it hit my Tibula instead. Might be a few weeks before I'm on it again."

"Actually, it's **7** weeks before you're on it, we discussed this. You are under no circumstances to put weight on it, or it may be another month. Understood?" Oh John. Always so protective. It's quite endearing sometimes, but others it's annoying.

"I'll be fine, it's not like this is the first time." Everybody sighs and shakes their heads. Except Sherlock of course. He's over there, talking to a greasy haired guy in a sterile suit. This looks like **_so_** much _**fun.**_

"Get out of my way Anderson, you need me to solve this case for you."

"We don't _need_ you." I can hear his sneer from over here. "The only reason we tolerate your presence at crime scenes is so you don't turn into a psychopath. Not that you need any help."

"I'm not a psychopath Anderson I'm a High-Functioning Sociopath. _How_ many times do I have to drill that into your thick, semen soaked skull?"

Anderson spluttered for a while, until he squeaked out, "What do you mean, 'semen soaked'?"

"Well, let's just assume that you're not the only one." said Sherlock, sounding way too innocent. He nodded towards a frilly officer with a pink and green lanyard. "Poor Sally will be heartbroken." Man, I need to break this up before this 'Anderson' gets too many burns. I wonder what he did to invoke the wrath of my crazy father. Probably just existed for too long.

"Are we going in or what?" Anderson starts and peers at me, with what he probably considered a piercing glare.

Ugh.

Now I see why Sherlock hates him. I can practically feel the waves of stupid rolling off of him. He turns to Sherlock, another sneer on his face.

"Another 'colleague' of yours? Gonna go off with another one are you?"

"Now now Phil, it's considered rude to use all of your vocabulary in a single sentence." Anderson gives another splutter in response to Sherlock's jab. "As it so happens, Amy is not a colleague of mine. She's my genesic adolescent."

"Oh speak English, won't you?"

"But I just did."

I have to interject at this point, it's getting too funny.

"Now now paternal predecessor. He means dumb it down to toddler level, so he can understand it."

" ** _OH!_** Well why didn't you say so in the first place Phil?" Sherlock chided, already striding into the abandoned building, "She's my daughter!"

That. Was. Hilarious.

Anderson stands there, eyes wide and disbelieving, before saying that Sherlock was lying and walking dazedly into a light pole.

* * *

"No sign of blood, minor bruising around the knees and calves. Hands, big and strong." Sherlock's muttering was mostly incoherent.

"He played football."

Sherlock gives me a look, one that says "Explain."

"The bruising was caused by a cleat, and his knuckles are slightly curved from catching so many balls. I would assume that he was a goalie." Sherlock grinned, and raced down the stairs.

"JOHN! JOHN COME HERE!" At his words, John popped around the corner, eyes slightly wild.

"What is it Sherlock?"

"I need you to examine the body!" John sighed. He trudged up the stairs, coughing slightly. Sherlock frowned, concerned. As John leaned over the body, I spotted a small flash of metal under the corpse. Reaching my hand under it, I traced the edge of a metal loop. An earring.

"Sherlock. Come here, I found something." He was at my side in a flash, examining the earring closely.

"What's the residue? Along the shaft I mean."

"It's probably a conglomeration of white blood cells, skin cells, and her healing cream. My guess is whomever this belonged to had their ears pierced recently and switched them out a bit too early." Sherlock says that the earring belonged to the murderer, and that it fell off when she was moving the body, which was why it was underneath instead of on top.

 ***5 Wild Taxi Rides, 2 On-foot Chases, and 1 Solved Case Later***

"I say it's not fair that I didn't get to chase her, with my crutches and all."

" **I** say it's a good thing you have those crutches, otherwise your leg would be in splinters right now."

" _ **I**_ say we get back to the flat before you get colds." You know, there are a few things I found strange about Sherlock when I first met him. First, he always called 221B and 221E 'The Flat' like they were one flat. Second, was how smoothly I was added into John and Sherlock's lives, like somebody randomly chose 3 puzzle pieces and they fit together perfectly.

Third is his infuriating ability to in-humanize himself. He's a master at it. "Ugh breathing, breathing's boring." "What do I need to eat for, I ate last week?" "John? John, are you asleep? Why are you asleep?" etc., etc. I now know the pains my mother had when I acted like this, but I wasn't _nearly_ this bad.

Back at the flat (I suppose I do that too,) Sherlock was restless. He paced around, fidgeted with his microscope, and shouted at the telly. Eventually I got tired of it nd went into the kitchen for some tea. Hazelnut chai in fact, which is my favorite. John wanders in and flashes me a sleepy grin. I smile back, hand him a mug of tea and tell him to go to bed. He drowsily thanked me and shuffled out, presumably to his room. For a while, all was peaceful, Sherlock reading something about the differences of covalent and ionic compounds, John napping, and me sipping my tea and playing a symphony in my head.

It stayed that way for a few weeks, if you count several cases, many visits from Mycroft, and countless rows with machines peaceful.

This was the time that Moriarty decided to pounce one more time.


	10. AN! SKIP IF YOU DON'T LIKE THEM!

_**WARNING! WARNING! AUTHOR'S NOTE AHEAD! SKIP IF YOU ARE ANNOYED BY SUCH THINGS!**_

This is a notification that I will be re-doing a lot of my story Alabaster because I found HUGE plot holes (and horrific grammar). I will also be posting a new chapter there soon.

P.S. After a certain someone left a request for my story Alabaster, I couldn't find anywhere to put it into the story, so I'm just making a one-shot request thing where you can request a Sherlock one-shot and I'll add it to he story. I accept almost all requests!

On a different note, my Beta services will be on hiatus till May 28th or possibly later. Sorry. :L


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